Nov. 13th, 2009

Jan. 27th, 2009

Our life is made up of time. Our days are measured in hours, our pay measure by those hours, our knowledge is measured by years. We grab a quick few minutes in our busy schedule to have a coffee break. We rush back to our desks, we watch the clock, we live by appointments. And yet, time eventually runs out and you wonder in your heart of hearts if those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades were being spent the best the possibly could.- From Cecelia Ahern's book, Where Rainbows End

Oct. 6th, 2008

The movie is great! you can watched it at mysoju.com! haha. Great movie, great story line, GREAT ACTORSSSSS *melts* and and it's kind of rare to watch movies/drama that a guy actually sacrifice for a girl and not the typical the other way round (:

Sep. 1st, 2008

LEE JUN KI Say pretty cute! CUTE CUTE CUTE! (:Caught him in the movie, Virgin Snow, a korean and japanese movie joined together, like exchange culture like that. HAHAA.

WON BINAhhhhh. another actor that will melt you!(: First fall in love with him in the Korean drama, Autumn in my heart, in 2001. Great movie that will make you cry like a baby! And he acted in many other drama like FRIENDS (should really watch!).

Song Seung HunSame as Won Bin, caught him in action in Autumn in my heart. *melts* I love love love love him laaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I think his best movie i've watched so far is, He Was Cool. HAHA. Funny shit ass movie laa. Handsome! SAY HANDSOME (:

Kwon Sang WooMy first korean movie was My Tutor Friend and and he's the lead actor! Dead gorgeous. His smile is a killer! hahahahaha. Handsome handsome hansome!

Actually, i can't decided which one i like the most. haha. But when comes to movie combo, Sang Woo and Seung Han actually make a good pair! Either fighting with each other over a girl or as brothers and such. Watched their combo hotness in movie like Make It Big and Fate. Handsome guys la! And and Seung Han and Won Bin both acted in Autumn In My Heart! They make another duo! AHAHAHHA.

Aug. 13th, 2008

As a Malay, I've always been told that I have to work twice as hard to prove my worth

When I was younger, I always thought of myself as the quintessential Singaporean.

Of my four late grandparents, two were Malay, one was Chinese and one was Indian. This, I concluded, makes me a mix of all the main races in the country. But I later realised that it was not what goes into my blood that matters, but what my identity card says under 'Race'.

Because my paternal grandfather was of Bugis origin, my IC says I'm Malay. I speak the language at home, learnt it in school, eat the food and practise the culture. And because of my being Malay, I've always felt like a lesser Singaporean than those from other racial groups.

I grew up clueless about the concept of national service because my father was never enlisted.

He is Singaporean all right, born and bred here like the rest of the boys born in 1955. He is not handicapped in any way. He did well in school and participated in sports.

Unlike the rest, however, he entered university immediately after his A levels. He often told me that his schoolmates said he was 'lucky' because he was not called up for national service.

'What lucky?' he would tell them. 'Would you feel lucky if your country doesn't trust you?'

So I learnt about the rigours of national service from my male cousins. They would describe in vivid detail their training regimes, the terrible food they were served and the torture inflicted upon them - most of which, I would later realise, were exaggerations.

But one thing these stories had in common was that they all revolved around the Police Academy in Thomson. As I got older, it puzzled me why my Chinese friends constantly referred to NS as 'army'. In my family and among my Malay friends, being enlisted in the army was like hitting the jackpot. The majority served in the police force because, as is known, the Government was not comfortable with Malay Muslims serving in the army. But there are more of them now.

Throughout my life, my father has always told me that as a Malay, I need to work twice as hard to prove my worth. He said people have the misconception that all Malays are inherently lazy.

I was later to get the exact same advice from a Malay minister in office who is a family friend.

When I started work, I realised that the advice rang true, especially because I wear my religion on my head. My professionalism suddenly became an issue. One question I was asked at a job interview was whether I would be willing to enter a nightclub to chase a story. I answered: 'If it's part of the job, why not? And you can rest assured I won't be tempted to have fun.'

When I attend media events, before I can introduce myself, people assume I write for the Malay daily Berita Harian. A male Malay colleague in The Straits Times has the same problem, too.

This makes me wonder if people also assume that all Chinese reporters are from Lianhe Zaobao and Indian reporters from Tamil Murasu.

People also question if I can do stories which require stake-outs in the sleazy lanes of Geylang. They say because of my tudung I will stick out like a sore thumb. So I changed into a baseball cap and a men's sports jacket - all borrowed from my husband - when I covered Geylang.

I do not want to be seen as different from the rest just because I dress differently. I want the same opportunities and the same job challenges.

Beneath the tudung, I, too, have hair and a functioning brain. And if anything, I feel that my tudung has actually helped me secure some difficult interviews.

Newsmakers - of all races - tend to trust me more because I look guai (Hokkien for well-behaved) and thus, they feel, less likely to write critical stuff about them.

Recently, I had a conversation with several colleagues about this essay. I told them I never thought of myself as being particularly patriotic. One Chinese colleague thought this was unfair. 'But you got to enjoy free education,' she said.

Sure, for the entire 365 days I spent in Primary 1 in 1989. But my parents paid for my school and university fees for the next 15 years I was studying.

It seems that many Singaporeans do not know that Malays have stopped getting free education since 1990. If I remember clearly, the news made front-page news at that time.

We went on to talk about the Singapore Government's belief that Malays here would never point a missile at their fellow Muslim neighbours in a war.

I said if not for family ties, I would have no qualms about leaving the country. Someone then remarked that this is why Malays like myself are not trusted. But I answered that this lack of patriotism on my part comes from not being trusted, and for being treated like a potential traitor.

It is not just the NS issue. It is the frustration of explaining to non-Malays that I don't get special privileges from the Government. It is having to deal with those who question my professionalism because of my religion. It is having people assume, day after day, that you are lowly educated, lazy and poor. It is like being the least favourite child in a family. This child will try to win his parents' love only for so long. After a while, he will just be engulfed by disappointment and bitterness.

I also believe that it is this 'least favourite child' mentality which makes most Malays defensive and protective of their own kind.

Why do you think Malay families spent hundreds of dollars voting for two Malay boys in the Singapore Idol singing contest? And do you know that Malays who voted for other competitors were frowned upon by the community?

The same happens to me at work. When I write stories which put Malays in a bad light, I am labelled a traitor. A Malay reader once wrote to me to say: 'I thought a Malay journalist would have more empathy for these unfortunate people than a non-Malay journalist.'

But such is the case when you are a Malay Singaporean. Your life is not just about you, as much as you want it to be. You are made to feel responsible for the rest of the pack and your actions affect them as well. If you trip, the entire community falls with you. But if you triumph, it is considered everyone's success.

When 12-year-old Natasha Nabila hit the headlines last year for her record PSLE aggregate of 294, I was among the thousands of Malays here who celebrated the news. I sent instant messages to my friends on Gmail and chatted excitedly with my Malay colleagues at work.

Suddenly a 12-year-old has become the symbol of hope for the community and a message to the rest that Malays can do it too - and not just in singing competitions.

And just like that, the 'least favourite child' in me feels a lot happier.

Each year, come Aug 9, my father, who never had the opportunity to do national service, dutifully hangs two flags at home - one on the front gate and the other by the side gate.

I wonder if putting up two flags is his way of making himself feel like a better-loved child of Singapore.

Aug. 4th, 2008

Looking at her from the corner of his eyes, he wonder how long have he had known her. Meeting her right now was such a coincidence. He thought of her minutes before and now she’s just right beside him, chatting away. It’s been so long since both of them had sat down together, somewhere. The last time they had such conversation was pretty long time ago. He tried not to drift away from the conversation but he can’t help it. He falls into a deep silence. He doesn’t know what to say. Occasionally, he starts a topic to talk but again, silence overcomes the two of them. He had always hated the silence between them. He thought of the time they spent together. Not much of memories together, he realised. The sound of the bell brought him back to reality. The bus reached her stop. They said goodbye.

And sitting there, he watched her walked away from him again, thinking whether he’s in love with her, all over again.

The sun shines brightly in the sky. Clear blue sky with a nice cool breeze. She boards the bus. The minute she board the bus, she saw him, sitting at the back as he always did. She sat beside him and starts out the conversation. She talked about herself, she asked about him. As she talked, she realised he had drifted away into a deep thought. Slowly, word by word, she stop talking, letting the silence taking over them. She wanted a conversation with him so badly; she doesn’t know what to say. Occasionally, he talked a little and then kept quiet. She wanted her destination to reach faster but yet she doesn’t want to. She wants to spent time with him but yet she doesn’t know how. The last time both of them spent time together was exactly 4 months ago, she remembered. She wondered whether he does. She pressed the bell. She said goodbye. Her heart ache.

And walking away from him, she thought to herself whether she has been in love with him long enough to let him go.

Jun. 23rd, 2008

To play just the first note of a phrase,a performer must know context -like an actor entering upon a scene:What is the setting? What do I want?Am I prepared for what is about to happen?Should I be surprised? Where have I been?What is my mood, my energy, my pulse, my direction?And even the impulse of the first tone,its articulation must be considered.Should the first note bite or sigh?Is it like pronouncing "Teresa" or "Maria"?The variety of articulations is infinite:how many ways can you exhale?how many ways can you touch your hands together?Before any sound,there is already meaning.